Christmas at Home
by Carnivalgirl
Summary: First War, 1979. Remus has been living with James and Lily for a year and a half, and looks forward to spending Christmas with them. But unexpected news might mean Christmas is off this year for them all. Or is it?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Season's Greetings! This fic is unbeta'd due to being so very near Christmas, so please forgive its shortcomings. The Christmas song is from 'Oh What a Lovely War', the musical. This is not a one-shot, there will soon be a second part. Enjoy!

**Christmas at Home**

I love the first of December. To me it has always signalled the start of Christmas, which is, as the Muggle song says "The most wonderful time of the year". For us wizards it is the same. Christmas is a season where the world is a little bit more attractive, people are just a little bit more optimistic, and most importantly, everyone is nicer to each other, which means a lot to someone in my position in society.

At the end of this year we will officially be able to say that we have been at war for two years. And we have felt every day of them - the little wince of pain you get at the morning's announcements, or when you remember something that isn't there any more like that music shop on Diagon Alley, or, as happened to me last week, you cut yourself shaving and feel irrationally scared and shaken by the sight of blood on your fingertips. I could go on, but instead, I'll just say that I am very keen to have a day that was distinguished by happiness rather than tragedy.

I've been living with James and Lily for a year and a half, and they've been married for eight months. We're very comfortable together. My room is an entire floor above theirs, so we rarely get in each others' way, especially since we're all out doing different things. It's Monday today. Lily stays home on Mondays, and makes James and I some dinner. When I come home that day, she's got a glow in her cheeks. She's probably feeling a bit Christmassy too.

"I've made lasagna," she says, "with extra beef for us."  
I smile at her gratefully. I've been out in the cold all day and my body feels like it's melting, while my stomach feels like it's empty. "That sounds about perfect, Lily."  
"I thought as much," she says. "Hibernation instincts, eh?"  
"Wolves don't hibernate, they keep hunting," I say, wryly.  
"Neither do deer, rats, or dogs, but tell that to the boys," she replies. "I'll dish up as soon as James gets back. Go and warm yourself by the fire, you look like...an icicle."

Funny how we avoid the word 'death' this days, isn't it?

I stay by the fire, which Lily has just lit, to let my toes thaw out. I feel so very festive I wish James had a copy of 'A Christmas Carol' that I could dig out, but I have to remind myself that there are still twenty-four whole days, and those days won't be the slightest bit interesting if I do everything at once. Every so often I look over and see Lily, who habitually looks at the clock. She's trying to stop herself from thinking too much about James while he's out, but she can't help worrying in the hour before he's expected.

He comes home, of course, his hair flattened by the rain, and she rushes to greet him. Before he can even take his cloak off she leans on him and kisses him. She reminds me a bit of my mum when she does that. I'll never tell her though - that's practically an insult to a nineteen-year-old. But it's sweet when they do the "How are you, love?" "Fine, sweetheart. Just tired, that's all" "Oh, I'm glad. I'll get dinner on" routine.

James removes and hangs up his clothes with a weary sort of air, though he isn't unhappy. When Lily goes back into the kitchen, he comes over to me. I can't tell what it is but there's something different about him, and there has been for the past week or so. The only thing I can pinpoint is that he stands a bit straighter than he used to, and holds his shoulders further back. It's like he's trying to look more manly, almost.

Then he throws himself on the sofa next to me, and says "Alright, Remus?" and I forget this impression.  
"Yeah, alright. You?"  
"Yeah. Prewett, by the way," he says, raising one hand in the air, "is a nutter."  
"Which one?"  
"Both."

This makes me laugh. "They're the best variety though, right?"  
"Oh yeah. Laugh a minute. Which is more than you can say for some. Have you got your interview tomorrow?"  
"Yes," I say. It's for a café in the Muggle part of town. Why I'm being interviewed, I don't know. It seems there is always some kind of obstacle for me.  
"Surely," James expands, "it's pointless having an interview for a café? How many plates can you hold?"  
"Three."  
"How many cups of tea?"  
"Five."  
"Done, job's yours."  
"Thanks, James, now I'll feel really embarassed if I don't get it."  
He smirks, in the typical Prongs fashion. "Don't argue with me, Moony, you will."

Lily calls us for dinner. It's about six o'clock. Since we are lazy, useless teenagers wearing ourselves out fighting a war, we don't usually eat until at least eight, so this is a little surprising for me.  
"Dinner's early today," I remark to James.  
"Yes," he says. "Lily and I are going to see Dumbledore tonight, and we're flying."

He leaves, and I'm sat there, wondering. Of course, I say to myself, they can go and see Dumbledore whenever they like. But what could they possibly have to discuss that can't be discussed in front of the Order, at the next meeting? Or that can't wait another week or two? Then again, our old Headmaster does have a hectic schedule. I only got my reference from him at the start of this year.

But why on earth are they flying? By the way, we live in Devon. Hogwarts is in Scotland. They'd have to fly at least three hundred miles, in the rain. Who in their right mind would want to do that?

That night is like any other dinner night. James gives us a brief report of all today's changes to the war effort, which included Fabian Prewett's 'Christmas carol', which Lily and I remembered from last year.

_"It was Christmas Day in the harem, the eunuchs were standing round,__  
__And hundreds of beautiful women were stretched out on the ground,__  
__Along came the wicked sultan, surveying his marble halls,__  
__"What do you want for Christmas, lads?"__  
__And the eunuchs all said...___

_"Tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy, oh tidings of comfort and joy!"_

When it's over, Lily stands up and breezily says "I have a little present for us all! Since it's the first of December and everything."

She produces three cardboard structures with names of Muggle chocolates and festive designs on them. They seem to have perforated windows with numbers in a random order on them. For a moment I have no idea what she's put in front of us, until suddenly a wheel turns in my brain and I remember something from my very earliest childhood – something I used to see when I could live in the Muggle world…

"It's an advent calendar, isn't it?"  
Lily nods enthusiastically. "Uh-huh. My dad used to buy these for me and Petunia. We'd always get jealous of each other's, but I think I can handle it now."  
"Good," I say, pulling an advent calendar with 'Smarties' towards myself defensively. "Mine mine mine!"  
"Would anyone care to explain this to me?" James interrupts.  
Lily demonstrates the sweet and simple process of ripping chocolate out of a door, and gives him the little stocking-shaped chocolate from the tip of her little finger. He smiles.  
"I've never had a chocolate shaped like a sock before, but there's a first time for everything!"  
"Dumbledore's dream sweets, I'm sure," I say, forgetting that they're going to see him.  
"Oh God," Lily says. "James, we'd better get going."

He straightens up. I knew I wasn't making it up, he's definitely acting differently. He tells Lily, not in too bossy a fashion, that they should both probably put more layers on.  
"Why on earth are you flying in this weather?" I ask.  
"I don't know," Lily says, and she looks back at James. Her expression says more than her words do, though I don't know what exactly. "It'd be perfectly fine to Floo."  
"We can't take any chances," he replies, quickly. She sighs.  
"It actually is the safest option," she tells me, as he goes upstairs. "Though if I catch my death of cold, he's entirely to blame."

I take the initiative to wash up, and when I hear them come back downstairs they're still talking in low and irritable voices. They say a cheerful "Bye, Remus," when they leave, though it's drowned out a little by the noise of the rain and fog.

I don't mean to be the theorising type. I'm not a detective. I don't want to analyse anyone when they clearly want to be left alone. But I can't stop my mind from wandering that night, even when I'm trying to concentrate on being the perfect candidate for tomorrow. Dumbledore, I think, must have some kind of personal business with them. That is definitely not hard to believe.

James and Lily are both very talented, especially considering how young they are. They've defeated Voldemort himself three times. They're actually coming to be quite famous. We've had support messages from our friends and allies in Europe - the staff of Beauxbatons, as I read aloud for the Order, said _"Veuillez envoyer nos meilleurs sentiments à M. et Mme. Potter"_. In a way, for those of us who love them, it's starting to become frightening. The Death Eaters, for all their talk of class and honour, are not inclined to show their enemies any respect.

If they were in special danger, or getting to be so, they'd have to go everywhere by broom, because Floo can be picked up on (not legally, of course, but we're well past considering that a barrier) and so can Apparition. But I'd defy anyone who wasn't a bird of prey to spot James Potter flying in the dark.

A heavy and depressed feeling comes over me. I did not want to start the festive season contemplating the idea of my friends being in serious danger. They're practically my brother and sister. Even now I still can't imagine...

Get over yourself, Remus. Lily and James will be fine. They always have been. They always will be. Anyway, it's CHRISTMAS.

_Christmas!_

My mind floats erratically between thoughts of doom and Dumbledore and memories of Christmas resurfacing. Whenever I almost drift off to sleep thinking of Mama's Yule Log I'm brought back by the horrifying realisation that the war will not stop to let me have a treat. I can hear the clock ticking in the dark and see the hour hand move twice past the illuminated side before James and Lily come back. Their steady footsteps on the stairs suggest they haven't died or fallen ill with the cold of the night, which means we'll all be fine for another day. I don't catch what they're saying, only the words "the three of us", and by now I've been sat here thinking for so long that I'm starting to wonder how I've put up with myself for nearly twenty years, so I don't stop to wonder who the "three of them" are. Perhaps me. Perhaps Dumbledore. Perhaps Sirius. Perhaps the cat?

Once I hear their bedroom door shut, I've had enough of December the first, and I sleep.

I know that Christmas is a special time of year when wonderful things happen. I know it in my heart because on December the second I actually manage to get a job serving coffee and cakes in a typical English tea-house. The lady who owns it, Maureen, is middle-aged, and her blonde hair has that flick at the ends that all the Muggles liked twenty years ago. She wears pearl earrings and a dark green blouse, and she gives me the best tea I've had in two years. She's very impressed with me when I tell her my mother ran a café, and she compliments my choice of Muggle outfit, and hairstyle. They were Lily's choice. She said it gave me a 'Merchant Ivory' look. I have no idea what that means but I guess it must be a good thing. After a few quick questions she gives me a smile and says "Thank you". I've never been cheerfully dismissed from a job interview before so I don't know what she means.

"Do...are you...can I work here now, then?"  
"Yes," she says, her voice laughing. "I'll see you tomorrow at seven?" she says. "If that's not too early..."  
"Oh no," I say, hardly able to believe I've got a job, with a timetable. "That's wonderful."  
She notices my surprise. "It must be funny for you," she says. "Coming to live in a city like this, after spending all your life on an island. Having to take the Underground and so on."

Oh, yes. She also thinks I'm from the Falklands. It was my way of explaining why I don't have any O-Levels and why my first name is 'Remus'. Most people don't know anything about the Falklands, so I can take liberties with the culture. I dread the day I meet someone who does know something, especially since the population of the area is so small they'd probably wonder why they didn't know me.

"Yes...it's very quiet in Stanley, there are less than two thousand people there and here there are millions! But I'm ready for a faster pace of life."

"Oh, well, of course you are!" she says. "You know, I could never have travelled so far at your age. When I was nineteen all I wanted to do was stay home with my mum."

If you think that's surprising, you should see what I'm really doing with my time, I think, and then remember again that I am indeed young, even if the state of my body, my mind and my soul strains to suggest otherwise.

"Well, it has its good and bad moments, like everything else," I say. "I have my friends, at least."

"Well," she says, "tell your friends to come here sometime, because I'm tired of talking to old biddies all day. And you'll have to tell me more about Stanley!"

When I walk down the street, it hits me. I. Have. A. Job. I'm employed. I'm going to have wages. I'm going to be a contributing member of society. I'm a citizen! Christmas music plays from the open door of a shop I'm passing.

_A very Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year...Let's hope it's a good one...without any fear..._

I nearly want to dance down the road. I am employed! And it's Christmas! Look out, 1980, Remus Lupin has his own money to spend.

Nevertheless I spend the afternoon celebrating in the typical Remus Lupin fashion - that is, by being extremely budget conscious and going to the library. When I meander home, a book on Stanley, my imaginary hometown, under my arm, I see that Sirius is paying us all a visit, as his motorbike is parked outside. I go in and he, Lily and James are casually sitting around the table in the kitchen.

"Speak of the devil," Sirius says, looking up at me with a smile. "How are you, Moony?"  
"Did you get the job?" Lily and James ask. Once again Lily has that beautiful glow in her face. They never fail to get excited for me when I go out for a job. In the Potter house we've come to consider getting through interviews to be 'great progress', so a job is a minor miracle.  
"Yes," I say, my own happiness overcoming me when I look at them. I feel like I love them for supporting me so long. They've been like my own family this past two years. "I start tomorrow at seven."

With that I collapse into the spare chair and let all three of them pile congratulations on me. This is a moment we never thought would come. Lily breaks out some chocolate biscuits and brews some fresh tea, because it's still only four o'clock so a bit early to drink anything stronger. They don't stop hugging me and patting me on the back.

"This isn't a career, you know," I say, hiding my joy in modesty. "It's just a little Muggle thing..."  
"A Muggle thing which pays!" James says. "And wizard companies love it when you've worked with Muggles."  
"Or at least they used to," Sirius says, a remark which hits a bit too low for our mood, so we pretend not to hear it.

The time ticks by, and Sirius has to leave for some shift tonight with Peter. Peter doesn't do many shifts with the Order as he has a real job at the hospital, and so we embrace every opportunity we get to spend time with him. He's a brother, too. They're all my brothers. I will love them for the rest of my life.

Before Sirius goes, he hands me some sheets of paper.  
"These are for you," he says. "Give them a read, and if you're interested, Floo me tomorrow."

At first I assume they're some kind of document for the Order, but they're printed on Muggle paper, by Muggles. Within a minute of looking at them it occurs to me that they're forms for a flat, and in the next minute I've worked out that they're for a flatmate. Sirius is inviting me to move in with him.

"This is funny," I say, showing it to Lily and James, "I mean I appreciate the offer, but why would I want to live in London? I mean, yes, I work there," I've never 'worked' anywhere before, so the word is exciting to me, "but why would I want to stop living here, where it's calm and I can walk to places I want to go to? Padfoot knows I'm hap…py..."

They don't smile at my slightly silly remarks.

"I'm sorry, Remus," James says, looking at me seriously and directly. "but you're going to have to move, and London's the best place. Sirius is more than happy to have you in his flat."

Oh, Merlin. _They've_ asked Sirius to invite me to move in with him.

I knew there would come a time when they'd get fed up of me and send me on my way, and I told myself I would not get offended, or nostalgic, because sometimes in life you just have to do as you're ruddy well told, like it or lump it, as my grandmother would say. Still I never thought I'd be kicked out...no, Remus, don't be ridiculous, you're not being kicked out, you're simply being asked to relocate...the very day I got a job.

And the thing that really hurts is, not only do I love James and Lily but I'm also starting to love the Potter house a bit. It's the biggest house I've ever lived in and it's so comfortable it's like a dream. The living room has big stiff armchairs, the kind you can read all night in, and a beautiful log fire. I sleep in a king-size bed with two pillows stuffed with goose feathers. The bath is about a metre deep, and the garden is an acre big, and I'll never forget waking up on a summer's morning after the full moon with the tender caresses of the grass and the Devon sun on my skin...

But no. Times must change. You can't hang onto anything, anything at all.

"I understand," I say, and I don't know how or even whether to tell them how I feel or not, because I know that they've been happy with me too, even if they aren't now. In the end I blurt out, "I just want to say...Thank you. Thank you for everything. You must understand how much this has all meant to me."

...and tiny but unmistakeable tears come down Lily's red cheeks, and James unconsciously pulls her hand towards him.

"We're sorry, Remus," he says. "It's not that we...I mean...we were happy here, too. We could have lived like this for another two years, easily. But you really are going to have to leave," He pauses, and swallows, and half the strength in his voice disappears all at once, "because we have to leave too."

Have you ever known something without ever saying it in your mind? I think that's what I feel. But I can't articulate it. I just listen to James with dumb anticipation.

"Lily and I are being targeted," he says. "We're public enemies, so it's not safe for us or the Order to carry on fighting any more. Dumbledore says that he and the rest of the Order will do their best to protect us, but the only thing that will truly save our lives is going into hiding. So that's what we have to do."

"He's found us a place," Lily says, thickly, and I can tell she feels like I do, or worse. "He suggests we move in by the end of the month."

"The end of the month? But it's Christmas!" I exclaim, though for some reason I can't bring myself to talk at a normal volume even though we're alone. "What's the emergency?"

"Well, we're being targeted, you know," James says, dryly. "I doubt Voldemort puts his plans on hold to pull a few crackers and listen to the wireless."

But there's something else. The Lily I know wouldn't be crying if it was just a case of being targetted, because we thought of that a long time ago even if we didn't think it all the way through.

"What else?" I say, so quietly I'm practically mouthing.

Lily smiles and looks up at me with reddening eyes. "We're having a baby," she says.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to last chapter's reviewers, **Kerichi** and **typin' paw**. Enjoy! Happy Holidays to you all, I hope you have a wonderful time.

**Part Two**

Yes. _Of course_ they are. This is why they flew to Dumbledore. Floo and Apparation can make even the strongest feel queasy, after all, let alone someone in Lily's condition.

She pauses for a second to let this sink in. I don't really know what to say at first.

"We only found out ourselves last week," she says. "Normally we wouldn't have to rush things, but, as you can understand, my position has suddenly become very vulnerable. Going into hiding is really our only option."

"I wanted to stay," James said. "I thought maybe we could protect Lily here. But too many people know where we are, and the area's too populous, it'd be a huge risk to the Muggles around. So we need to start again. This isn't just about us anymore. We'd rather pack our bags then take a chance with our child's life."

I nod. Hearing the words 'take a chance with our child's life' when two minutes ago they were two normal nineteen-year-olds is a bit overwhelming. I also smile slightly, hoping to convey that I've understood.

"Of course. So...will you be using the Fidelius Charm and everything?"

"Yes," they say, and discussion of _that_, appropriately enough, ends here. I can see now however why the news seems so bittersweet. They're going to have a baby together, and soon they'll be magically cut off from everyone they might have wanted to share the experience with. On pain of death.

"It might not be for long," Lily says. "We might be able to come back one day."

Unconsciously, all three of us take to looking around the room, taking in all its precious details, as if we were all already moving away. I suddenly feel like I've lost something, when not long ago I felt like the luckiest werewolf in the entire world. And that this should happen at Christmas, of all times...

Then again, why should I be the one to worry? I'm not the one having a child. And it is against the spirit of friendship to show a negative attitude at times like these.

"We'll try to finish the war as soon as we can, then," I say, in a tone which might be joking and might not.

It also occurs to me suddenly that in the midst of our gloom at losing the house we've forgotten that the reason for it isn't all that bad. It's actually quite wonderful.

"Congratulations," I say, sincerely. "On the baby."

That seems to drive away the last of the tension. They both relax and look more like their normal selves, though James's hand is still over Lily's. She looks happy.

"Thank you," she says. "I've not been to the Healer's yet, but if I've worked it out right, it's not due 'til the middle of summer. Which seems like a very long way away now, but I bet it'll come round in no time."

James gives me an amusing look, as if to say; "Yeah, what she said."

What else do you say when your friends announce something like this? I don't know. I'm nineteen, it's not something I've ever been through.

"What will you call it?" I ask.

They burst out laughing. "God knows," James says. "We've only just got our heads around the fact that there is a baby, let alone that it's got to have a name."

Lily giggles. "You know that huge parcel I got yesterday, Moony? It was from my mum. She's written a small forest's worth of lists. She also tells me repeatedly that she likes the name Desmond. Desmond, I ask you."

This makes me laugh, and suddenly it's as if nothing's changed. I hope that, if someone ever writes all this down, they remember that behind all the battles and strategies, and all our values and the prices we paid for them, we were still no more than ordinary British teenagers. We were just trying to settle down in a changing world. Except, perhaps, we had to go a bit faster than we would have done under normal circumstances.

One day James tells me, away from Lily, that the day they told Sirius (which was the same day they told me) as soon as she was out of the room Sirius said; "Mate, did you...mean to do that?". Of course that would normally be a horrifyingly inappropriate question to ask expectant parents, except that it was Sirius Black asking James Potter, so it wasn't.  
"And what did you say?" I ask, incredulously.  
"Well," he responds, "I told him the truth. Which is that while we weren't exactly trying for a baby, we weren't exactly trying not to have one, either, if you know what I mean?"

This is the war for you. You can't always afford to make compromises on what you want. I can't fully understand the spirit of it myself, but then I'm used to compromising.

Lily, of course, has her own feelings to share on the subject. She's already stocking up on pregnancy guides, baby books, photo albums, pre-natal supplements, maternity clothes, and more.

"I can't stop thinking about it," she says. "Every morning my first thought is that in August I'm going to be a mum. I'm going to have a baby, James and I are going to have a _baby_! There are moments when I just can't believe it's real," she laughs, "but that won't last long, if my pregnancy is anything like my mother's. But it's...it's phenomenal, in a way, isn't it, Remus?"

I laugh quietly. "It is. I could never do it myself."

Over the next two weeks I'm living in three different worlds. During the day I work in the Muggle café which is decorated with tinsel, and the people there talk about things they're buying for their children. A couple of the old women as me, as a teenager, about what's fashionable, and when I have no idea what to say Maureen laughs and says "He's from the Falklands!" and for some reason a few customers think this is absolutely hilarious. I think it must be some comedy only Muggles understand.

Then there's the war. This time two years ago I would have been horrified at myself for summarising it so shortly but it's gone on so much you I feel like I can. It is still the same fight for glory, for freedom, for my rights and the rights of people I love, for safety, health, for...life, really, if you get to the bottom of it. The same thing that I cheerfully offered to die for. And I don't think I'd have my life any other way even when I think I'm going to die a random, painful death, because it's the only thing I want to do.

But it's much harder at Christmas. Especially when your third world - the one that would be the best - is becoming emptier every day.

The Potter house is a Christmas-free zone. James and Lily are moving on the twentieth and so have made a decision not to put up any decorations. I think they're reluctant to get into the Christmas spirit when they've got so many other things to think about. When I come back after the cheery Muggle world into the house, which has a bit less furniture every day, I feel like the world's gone dark. The only thing in the house to remind us of Christmas is our advent calendars, which, like Lily's pregnancy books and the clock in Dumbledore's office that I still see sometimes in my dreams, seem to be counting down to something far more important than some little festivity. Goodbye, Christmas. See you next year?

And so what, I say to myself. It's just Christmas. In Britain especially we do the same things every year. Eat Christmas pudding, eat sprouts, worry about gaining weight. Go shopping. Joke to ourselves about Santa and his reindeer (James says he does not know how he will explain the reindeer's look to his son or daughter, because any child of Prongs will know that deer lose their antlers in the winter). Listen to Slade (many times). Pull crackers. Muggles, I learn, have a passion for fictional death on Christmas Day. This is completely incomprehensible to me.

It's only Christmas. There is more to life. Christmas 1977 there was a full moon and I spent most of the day ill in bed, so really that wasn't a great jolly holiday either.

...Except that the house was still decorated, Dad still read to me, and Maman still cut up and fed me my dinner when I didn't have the energy for it myself. So even then, we worked something out.

Christmas 1979 could be the last Christmas I ever have. God forbid, it could be the last for James, Lily and their unborn baby as well. I've got to do something. I cannot let it slip by.

But how do you celebrate Christmas in an empty house? What's Christmas when after it, you know two of your best friends will be hidden from you at the risk of their own lives? I go over ideas in my head whenever I can. It serves as a useful distraction on patrols, or certainly better than singing that Muggle song in my head that makes me think of Dorcas. Last Christmas I gave you such good chocolate it might as well have been my edible heart. And this year? Humbug.

One slow morning at the café Maureen invites me to join her in the back room for tea. In the space there is a kettle, a fridge, a noticeboard with Christmas cards and Health & Safety advice pinned to it and a round plastic table. The only thing that I've never seen before is on the table. It looks like some kind of biscuit, formed into an incomplete house shape like a little country cottage. Its like she's building a sort of edible sculpture. The only kind of edible sculptures we have in the wizarding world are made of ice - which isn't edible, but Sirius chipped off a bit of the sculptures at James and Lily's wedding to put in our drinks.

I look at it closely. I haven't seen one of these since I was four and Mama took me to Strasbourg for the Christmas market. It was before I was a werewolf so it was easy for my parents to take me places. A whirl of memories come back. I remember receiving a free sample piece of gingerbread into my mitten-covered hands and nibbling it very, very slowly like it was a gift. My mother then bought me a gingerbread Father Christmas for a gift, which I was supposed to take home, but I ate it all in one go. She was too amused to be cross. That was a happier time.

Maureen notices me examining it with curiosity and says "Do you not have those in the Falklands?"  
"No," I lie, then honestly say; "I haven't seen a gingerbread house in a long time."

"Well," she says, "I make these every year for my children. I used to make them here so they wouldn't see and try to eat it before it was finished, and even now that they're grown-up they still don't want it in the house 'til it's ready. So, this is my little workshop."

"Will you decorate it?"

"Oh, of course. It wouldn't be a proper house if I didn't decorate, now, would it?"

Much like another house I know, I thought.

"It's funny, isn't it?" I say, as my thoughts begin to run on out of control, "I mean, houses don't have any direct link with Christmas or the Christmas story or anything but for some reason this gingerbread house has become as much a motif as, I don't know, chocolates in advent calendars. I guess it's just because we enjoy it. Or maybe, going on that...I guess the house...represents another comfort, doesn't it? I mean Christmas...is about being happy even in the littlest way, isn't it, and so when you make a little house to eat, you're..."

"It's based on Hansel and Gretel, love, that's all," Maureen says, laughing. She senses I'm an intellectual - she asked me once if I went to boarding school, funnily enough. My posturings don't belong in the café however, so all I do is laugh apologetically and ask for my tea.

All through that afternoon I can't stop thinking about that gingerbread house. It was just a plain thing - even burnt a little at the edges - but it haunts me. It's reminded me so much of home and Christmas and happiness that I can't help playing with it in my mind. If only I could have one of my own! The more I think about it, the more tempted I am to go to the nearest bakery and buy a gingerbread house, even though they're so expensive, sit in my room in the Potter house and deliciously destroy it, from floor to ceiling.

Then suddenly it hits me. A cold empty house is a cold empty house whether it's made of gingerbread or bricks and mortar. They're not so strong, either. The best kind of houses are the ones you put heart into.

I think I know how to celebrate Christmas with Lily and James.

One Saturday afternoon the sky is white with the cold. James has a mission to do and says he'll be back sometime late in the evening. Lily, not wanting to hang around the house (which is now very empty) alone, goes to see her mother, because before long she won't be able to do so without risking her life. I'm left alone. As soon as I hear Lily leaving I open a secret box in my room and take out flour, sugar, eggs, ginger and so on.

Making the mixture is a beautiful experience. I'm the son of a professional cook. Cooking to my mother was a natural and comfortable action, in the same vein as putting your favourite clothes on, and so it is for me, a little bit. I love the feel of the flour under my finger tips - in my imagination it's the same flour that made innumerable pie crusts on our dinner table, and the butter is the same butter that made fluffy fairy cakes that we took on picnics in wicker baskets like the Little Red Riding Hood I never liked. The ginger is a poignant mixture of old and new - my younger self liked gentle tasting ginger, but my older self appreciates its stronger qualities. And the texture of the dough is so soft and touchable, it's like a plaything. It's sensual. I can knead my thoughts and my hopes into it.

Push. How on Earth is it our Prongs is going to be someone's dad, when only two years ago he was trying to dye Snape's hair pink? Stretch. Now really, Remus, you didn't think those sounds at night were from the heating, did you? Pull. God bless us, everyone, but especially baby Potter. Pinch. And I'm not being ironic here.

Push. God, why did I have to go to war? Stretch. Because I was made to, as this house is made to be eaten, I was made to die. Anyway, I don't have anything better to do. Pull. I don't know whether I'm afraid of that or not. Pinch. Christmas, don't die on me, just in case I die on you.

When it's baking the whole kitchen fills with the smell. The oven belonged to James's mother, it's a masterpiece of a machine, though she wasn't any more of a cook than James is, sadly. I feel like I've achieved something. Sometimes I wonder about the origins of cooking - Cavewizards on a fire, you know. Who found all the things we love now? What did it feel like to taste gingerbread for the first time in history? But most importantly this smell is now a smell of Christmas, and I feel its special, tickly joy in my heart. It seems right that Christmas should come from something organic, especially this year when our Marauder family has a baby on the way.

Then to the decoration. Since moving into the Potter house I've gotten to know it very well, even the outside of the house, which I unfortunately got to know from the sunrise after the full moon. On a few moons Prongs hasn't been around to keep me in check, as it were, and so I've had to lie on the grass outside before Lily wakes up, letting my humanity come back to me as I stare at the beams of the house and the reflection of the sky in the French glass windows. I try to imitate the house as much as I can. The French windows are made of melted lemon drops - the yellowy tinge could be a lamp or the sun.

This gingerbread house is no more empty than the Potter house, for the next few days at least. I've crafted a family too. I didn't have any man-shaped cutters and so had to squish them together, but that gave me some room for creativity. Gingerbread James is wiry and has big shoulders and a big head. He's stood at the door, looking out at everyone. Gingerbread Lily has a wide dress on - partly because I'm lazy and partly because Real Lily's already getting into the habit of wearing large jumpers and plucking the fabric around her stomach area. She's peeking out of the window, because she's in the warm with Gingerbread Baby. Gingerbread Baby - yes, call me sentimental, but it's family too - has a squashy face where it got a bit undercooked. Say it's got its mother's plump cheeks. And then there's Gingerbread Me, even scrawnier than Gingerbread James, stood outside with Gingerbread Sirius and a suitcase made of Liquorice Allsorts.

By the time we close the café for the night, it's ready.

Once again, we have a family dinner. It's different these days because we only have three plates and three sets of cutlery unpacked, and Lily's appetite varies a lot, and we don't go shopping for too many perishable ingredients. Today we've got baked potatoes with a pile of cheese, and some bacon on the side.  
"How was the mission?" Lily asks James, quietly.  
"Unproductive," he says. "So, it could be worse. How's your mum?"  
"Fine. Still insistent on 'Desmond'. I really don't think it matters if our baby's name goes with Dudley. It's not like they're going to grow up together."  
I decide not to mention that Sirius has nicknamed Frank and Alice's baby 'Neville', and plans to nickname this baby 'Algernon'. They don't ask me anything, as they're entirely engaged in their own conversation and for once, I really like that, because once I'm finished I sneak off and, like the fantastic waiter I am, bring the gingerbread house to the table.

They don't say anything at first, they just look slightly confused, so I feel obliged to break the silence and introduce the meal - again, like a good waiter!

"I made this for us," I said. "I thought it was something Christmassy to do."

"Oh yeah," James says dryly. "Round here, you'd hardly know it was Christmas." But he doesn't take his eyes off of it.

"Oh, Remus…it's absolutely gorgeous," Lily says, slowly approaching her fingers towards all my little delicate handiwork. "It must have taken you hours. You're brilliant!"

"Hey, it's got people!" James says. By now he's also poking around the house, and he says this with the tone of a child discovering a new toy. "Are these little people us?"

"Yes," I said. "They're us. Peter's on the roof in rat form. I kind of forgot him as I was baking. Say he's waiting for Father Christmas."

James laughs, and moves his own fingers over the candies and decorations. "Hey look, Lily, we've got a gingerbread baby."

He pulls Gingerbread Baby out through the door and makes it dance on the path, which makes Lily laugh. "I'll eat it," she says. "The real baby's bound to enjoy the taste." Her own fingers pluck Gingerbread Me from his comfortable stance in the 'snow'. "And this is you?"

"Yes," I say. I'm stood awkwardly at the table, my arms hanging at my sides just as uselessly as they are on my gingerbread self, stood in the icing snow.

"We're not _watching you leave _our gingerbread house, are we?" James asks. His voice has the usual Marauder's joking tone, but at the same time I sense he's genuinely concerned about what I'm trying to say. I know that they love me as much as I love them, and try as I might to prove that I'm OK and I can deal with anything that comes our way, and that I genuinely am glad they're having a child together, they still feel slightly guilty for throwing me out so quickly. That, or offended that I'd think they are kicking me out.

"No," I say, honestly. "This house is the house of the Gingerbread Potters, and all three are very happy, and the other Gingerbread Marauders are perfectly content to leave them on their own. Except around Christmas time, when they come together - if only for a moment - for old times' sake. And then, maybe, OK, they go away again, but as long as they have these moments...especially at Christmas because Christmas is…special…they know that whatever happens they'll always find something to keep them together. In this case, ridiculous quantities of jam and icing."

Those tiny tears are on Lily's cheeks again, but this time I know she's better. She invites me to sit down.  
"Remus, thank you. Really…I never thought we'd get the chance to say goodbye"  
"Or have a Christmas," James said. "And while I'm apparently supposed to be a grown man and that, I did just keep wanting to break the decorations out. It seems so odd that we've just found out we're going to be a family and we're not even…"  
"But we are now," Lily says. "You know, I don't think the decorations were the thing we were forgetting, guys"

I don't really need to go into much more detail about what we said, and did. All I can tell you is that we did what we needed to do - we stopped. Stopped thinking about time, time, time, for our lives and the baby's life and the war. Stopped thinking about the things we were losing and sacrificing. Christmas, like so many other things, doesn't last long, so sometimes you have to stop and watch, and love the situation you're in while it lasts. Because if you can just do that, then the time afterwards doesn't seem quite so bad.

The gingerbread house is suspended in time, just like we are. The Gingerbread Potters and Gingerbread Marauders will be happy forever and ever. Maybe the real ones will too, who knows? We can watch them for a moment, think about them, admire them. But they have to go, they have to, there's no way around it, so we might as well enjoy the journey.

We take apart the house together. James and Lily feed each other pieces, and while they're distracted I take the chimney for myself. I'd wanted to save it but it's all gone before we know what we're doing. Again, like a lot of things.

But it was delicious, and we wouldn't change a thing.


End file.
